


Breaking Away

by arthurmerdragon



Series: Waiting [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Merthur Party 2013, Post 5.13, Suicidal Thoughts, Team Blue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthurmerdragon/pseuds/arthurmerdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin thought he knew how to grieve. He'd experienced enough death to know how to deal with a loss so huge, but nothing prepared him for the gigantic blow that came with the death of his king. How was he supposed to cope with life without the person he loved most? And how could he possibly move on? </p>
<p>For the Day 5 prompt of the Merthur Party 2013: "Not The End"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Away

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to this song a lot whilst writing this... so if you want to listen along:
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4kRciR7Eo4 (Naval, Yann Tiersen)
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this fic to my wonderful king, mcloveoin, and my beautiful Team Blue! Without you guys I don't think I would have had the courage to upload this, so thank you.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't _breathe_.

An invisible rope wound around him and squeezed, tighter and tighter, without mercy. His ribs were collapsing, exposing him to a world he didn't care for, a world that abandoned him when he needed its help most.

He was broken, his body ripping at the seams. There was no escape. All this time he was told that failure was impossible, and yet here it was, in plain black and white.

He had failed Albion, he had failed his destiny, and, most importantly, he had failed Arthur.

Arthur. His body clenched at the name.

The guilt tore at his insides, dragging him towards the ground. The world jolted.

He didn't feel the impact of his body crashing to the floor.

A chilling scream rose from the depths of his lungs, so alien he didn't even recognise it was his. He shut the world out by curling up on the dry ground. No-one deserved the privilege of disturbing him. Not now. Just this once, he was his own selfish person.

With a last look at the lake’s empty horizon, he closed his eyes, and wished, more than anything, to be sucked up by the earth.

***

He wasn't sure when exactly sleep overpowered the whirling thoughts inside his head, but the next day, Merlin woke with the birds. He lay with his eyes closed, absorbing the sweet, delicate chirping. The crisp air refreshed his lungs, and each breath he made was unrestrained. He felt… free. 

Why was that so unsettling?

He shivered and turned over. Opening his eyes, he was greeted by the Lake of Avalon, its waters shimmering from the light of the rising sun. Threatening to blind him, Merlin clasped his eyes shut, only to be greeted by the memories of the previous day. How could he forget, even for a moment? 

Arthur had died, and left him behind.

He froze, and the temperature around him dropped. Frost formed on the trees and grass. The lake began to crack as a layer of ice shielded its surface. He was so cold. Empty.

After a few moments, he rubbed his eyes and blinked. The icy surroundings began to melt, and the ground felt soft beneath him. It had been years since he lost control of his magic like that. 

He forced himself to move, it was no good just lying there. His body was stiff, and his arm gave way as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Sharp pain shot across his torso as he met the floor, causing his muscles to contract. Every movement he made was slow, and took so much _effort_. All he wanted was to lie down and return to the abyss of sleep.

His second attempt, however, succeeded, and soon he was facing the lake head on, like he was taking on an old enemy. An enemy he tried to evade for so long, but still came back to bite him. 

He stared at the horizon for hours, not daring to look away, but didn't know what to do. Lose eye contact for one second, and then what? A primary instinct took over his body: he was anticipating an attack. But that was absurd; the lake was hardly going to do anything. Yet he couldn't bring himself to look away.

He was anticipating something else. 

“Come back,” he whispered. He wasn't sure what made him say those words out loud, to be honest. Maybe he just needed to hear them. Hear those insecurities in the silent air, just in case his king was listening. 

“COME BACK,” he cried out, “please”. He was on his feet. Taking a shaky breath, he walked towards the lake.

“You… _dollophead_ , you come back to me right now. YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME. You just can’t.” 

He dropped to his knees by the water, hands behind his head, clutching his hair. Tears streaked down his face.

“Don’t do this to me.”

He struggled to get the words to leave his throat. 

If Arthur had been there, he would have told Merlin to stop bossing him about. “I'm the king, Merlin, not you. _I_ give the orders around here”. But he didn't, and he never would.

Merlin’s heart was being torn from his chest and stomped on again, and again, and again, until there was nothing left but a bloody mush on the ground. How could he love again with that mess?

He was broken.

Looking out at the lake, he saw it. How easy it would be to just disappear. Walk out into the freezing water and just sink. He’d become part of the mud; part of the Earth once more.

He almost tried walking out there, into the unknown, but it was as though there was a barrier around the lake. Something was stopping his body from touching the water and sending him a message:

Stay alive.

So instead he stumbled backwards and crouched down, keeping his eyes locked on the lake. His thoughts strayed for what seemed like forever, yet somehow no time at all.

Merlin had experienced a lot of death. His father, Lancelot, Elyan, Freya, and countless others. He thought knew how to grieve.

When his father died, Merlin wept. He felt an overwhelming sorrow, a sadness of an ending dream. 

But, if he was brutally honest with himself, he didn't really know the man. He’d spent his whole life wondering about Balinor: who was he, what did he look like, did he know he even had a son? When Merlin finally got to meet and get to know him for that short time, he pieced it together, combining the facts with his own imaginings. Merlin lost a partially-fictionalised man that day in the forest. He lost potential.

With Arthur, there was no wondering. He never wanted to meet that egotistical prince on his first day in Camelot. In fact, at the time, he would have much rather stayed as far away from him as possible. Despite being the noble king he is (“was, Merlin, was”), Arthur was such a _prat_ back then. Merlin gave a small smile - the first in almost a week. 

Arthur would have noticed that. He would have pointed it out. He always knew when Merlin was unhappy, like he was in tune to Merlin’s very soul. He’d grown equally as close to Arthur over the past ten years (had it really been so long?), closer than anyone could ever know. They knew each other’s quirks and personalities so well, the little things that only two soul mates could know. What was that phrase his mother used? 

Oh, that’s it. 

“ _Two sides of the same coin_ ” 

His hand automatically sought out the sigil Arthur gave to him from his pocket. He ran his thumb over the metal bird, and looked up, his eyes threatening to overflow once more. 

Before he left for the Crystal Caves he made sure to put it in his pocket to remind him that Arthur trusted him with his life, and it was his duty to protect him. 

He honestly thought he could pull it off again. He thought Arthur would cheat death once more.

Monotonously, he put the sigil away and took a sip from his water canteen, looking around. He tried desperately to contain his sobs, but they were too much for him to bear and soon had him begging for Arthur to come back once more.

The next thing he knew, it was getting dark. He contemplated gathering kindling to make a fire, but doing that would require moving, and moving meant turning his back on Arthur. Merlin wasn't ready for that.

Deciding it wasn't that cold, Merlin removed his jacket, balled it up into a pillow shape, and placed it on the ground. The moment his head hit the worn headrest, he fell asleep.

***

_“Does that mean you’ll give me the day off?”_

_“Two.”_

_“That’s generous”._

Merlin woke with a start. Shaking, he sat up.

Two days off, that’s what Arthur gave him. Two days. And this was Day Three. 

If Merlin stayed at the lakeside any longer, he didn't think he’d ever leave. No, it was today or never. 

Arthur would be annoyed if he stayed, anyway.

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Maybe you could polish my armour, scrub the floors, my pile of laundry has grown again -”

The sudden rumbling of his stomach disrupted his musings. Eating had been the last thing on his mind those past few days, but now it was all he could think about.

Remembering that the horses, who had fled at the sight of Morgana, were carrying nearly all of his supplies, Merlin had to scavenge for breakfast in the surrounding forest. He thanked the Gods that Gaius had trained him to find edible berries and other wild fruits, as there were apparently no animals anywhere near Avalon (apart from the songbirds, but Merlin drew a line at eating the only creatures that gave him comfort in the never-ending silence).

He purposely avoided anywhere he and Arthur may have walked. His body still ached from carrying his king’s body, and that was enough of a reminder of his heartache.

After searching for a couple of hours, the only creature he came across was a dead deer, which had, unfortunately, met its end quite a while ago, judging by the rancid smell and the rotting flesh. Merlin sighed and trudged back to the lakeside, dead deer in tow.

It was almost humorous, if it wasn't so tragic.

Settling down by the lake, he put some of the fruit aside for his journey, and devoured the rest. Not eating for four days created an appetite, to say the least. 

The rest of the morning was spent trying to find a way to conjure up a makeshift bag out of the deerskin. It was difficult without a book to consult, but Merlin was grateful for the distraction. It kept his mind busy so he didn't feel the nagging impulse to glance up at the lake quite so much.

Once the bag was made and filled with fruit, and his canteen was threatening to overflow, Merlin found himself lingering.

He didn't want to leave.

Leaving meant saying goodbye, and that wasn't an option.

_It just wasn't._

But he had to go, he knew that.

He just wanted to share one more moment with the person he loved most, that’s all.

He wanted to feel his and Arthur’s skin touch, hear Arthur tease him endlessly about trivial things, see his blonde hair shine in the sunlight. He wanted to hold him tightly and take in his scent. Hell, he didn't even care if Arthur was sweaty from training or hunting boar, he just needed to be close to _him_.

He settled for looking out at the lake's horizon, and wishing. Wishing for the impossible.

His hope for Arthur's magical resurrection was gone. He knew that, no matter what Kilgharrah had said, there was no possible way Arthur could return to him. He was clinging desperately to the memories. If he left Avalon now, that's all he'd have, and that terrified him.

What if he forgot the way Arthur would glance at him during boring council meetings and roll his eyes with a tiny smirk? How Arthur’s hand would linger just a second too long whenever he handed something to him? How he always made a point of introducing Merlin to visiting parties so he always felt included… and… plenty of other moments that no-one could ever know about? He didn't want those memories to fade because Arthur was gone.

Shaking his head, Merlin threw his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his canteen. He focused his energy, and his eyes melted into a brilliant gold. 

“ _Ámundae min cyning,_ ” he whispered. A layer of bluish-silver glittered over the lake’s surface, and gently faded into nothingness.

Satisfied, Merlin turned away and walked towards the woodland.

He knew exactly where he was going: the only place he could go to keep Arthur’s memory - and his legacy - alive.

Back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I used an Old English translator for Merlin's spell, so it may not be entirely accurate, but hopefully you get the gist that Merlin's using magic.
> 
> Anyway, criticism and comments are highly appreciated :)


End file.
